Safety
by chaserzachsmith
Summary: Three generations of tea with the Longbottoms.
1. Chapter 1

Lately they are always exhausted. The war has taken its toll on everyone, and Frank and Alice Longbottom have had a miserable time of it. Working full-time as Aurors, trying to work with the Order on the side, and a baby.

"How is Neville?" Minerva thinks to ask, just so they can start on something more pleasant than the war.

Alice laughs and looks at him. "He's doing well! Yesterday he rolled over."

Minerva nods indulgently, though she doesn't know if that's actually significant.

Frank tickles the baby's foot gently. "He's disillusioned with Dumbledore, I'm afraid. Yesterday he spat up on his beard." 

"I've been tempted to do so myself on occasion," says Minerva drily.

They laugh.

"He's still launching attacks on Muggleborn families in London," says Alice. "Here's the Auror report-" she pulls it out of her purse and puts it on the table. "As nearly as we can tell there isn't any particular method to it, it's mostly random. He's going after well-established families, the ones in the Ministry mostly. Scrimgeour has us keeping an eye on a few families but it's not going to accomplish anything if they actually get targeted. We aren't cleared for intervention."

"We're stretched thin as is," murmurs Minerva. "We'll have to try and stretch out some more patrols. Only a few. There's a few families who live pretty close together."

Frank nods and circles a few blocks of the city in red ink. Alice bounces Neville on her knee and Minerva frowns at their map and sips her tea.

"Perhaps we ought to reach out to them," says Alice. "The families."

Minerva nods, but disagrees. There's no guarantee that these families won't turn on the Order to protect themselves. Not for the first time she thinks about the Order members with families. James and Lily Potter and their Harry, Hestia Jones and her daughter, Marlene and her children and husband, what members of the Bones family are left.

Who's to say the Order's safe even from itself?

She's lucky, really, to live alone, to have loved and lost early enough to be turned off of love. It's a curse to be in this war with someone you care about. Her thoughts stray to Benjy Fenwick's parents- he'd still been living with them but they hadn't know he was in the Order until Minerva had brought them his remains. And the Boneses, an ancient and huge family now down to Rachel and Amelia and Rachel's baby. And Caradoc Dearborn. And Dione Diggle.

They are being picked off, down to their families. Minerva looks across her kitchen table at Alice and Frank- not young by any means but not old, not as weathered as she feels. They are poring over the maps, taking pauses to smile at each other, fond but tired.

For the first time, Minerva regards them with fear.


	2. Chapter 2

When she finally makes her way to the back table, Augusta fixes her with a stern look as she sits down. "I don't appreciate your telling my grandson what OWLs I've failed," she says.

Minerva smiles wanly. "Oh, someone has to keep you humble," she says. "It _did_ bolster his spirit, too."

"His spirit needed no bolstering," says Augusta. "He's been walking on clouds since he fought at the Ministry."

"No doubt," says Minerva, although she privately prefers walking-on-clouds Neville to crushing-self-doubt Neville.

They both take the first sip of tea; Augusta sighs in contentment and Minerva licks her lips.

"I'm warning you," says Augusta. "If you tell him about my Ancient Runes OWL as well, I'll tell him about the party you threw when Edward Pickelby got the Snitch in fifth year."

"You wouldn't dare," says Minerva, who had been proud of the (impressive) party but who would prefer it didn't become common knowledge. She's got a reputation to protect.

"Try me," says Augusta.

They both sip their tea and Minerva raises her eyebrows haughtily. "Neville doesn't need his spirit bolstered in Ancient Runes, luckily," she says, and Augusta laughs.

"I cannot believe he wanted to take Divination. Of all the things."

They shake their heads in unison.

"You wouldn't believe the week I've had," says Minerva. "The Malfoy boy's more unpleasant every day, two of the seventh years broke up and started a feud, and Albus is off in the country more often than not and leaving _me_ to crisis manage."

"How unfortunate," says Augusta. "What on earth could Albus be doing?"

"He jokes about scouting for a retirement home," says Minerva. She shakes her head. "I don't believe it. I've said it before and I'll say it again but you'd have to kill him to get him out of Hogwarts. And even then he'd probably insist on being buried in the forest."

"He's a truly insane man," says Augusta.

"But the students love him," says Minerva, shaking her head. "I wish he were around more often, though. Yesterday we had an argument in the staffroom."

"Tell me everything." They have not outgrown gossip yet, unfortunately.

"Filius and Pomona replaced all the mugs and Severus liked the old ones. Those things should best be left to Albus, I fear. I'm not an impartial judge."

"You liked the old mugs too?"

Augusta knows her too well. "Precisely."

"What could Albus be up to?" says Augusta musingly. "He came to visit the other week and his hand's turned gray. He must be dabbling in experimental spells or something."

"It's a mystery," says Minerva. "We can only speculate."

They both take a sip.

"Of course he could also be getting old," says Augusta.

"People don't usually turn gray when they get old," says Minerva.

"We did," says Augusta.

"You're too unkind," says Minerva.

They sip their tea.


	3. Chapter 3

He is nervous, though he has no reason to be. Minerva remembers well his talent in Herbology and his way with younger children—she remembers too well, she thinks, the way he'd inspired and fought for them in 1998—and he comes with glowing recommendations from both the Aurors and Professor Sprout.

But she has made him nervous for a long time, and she wonders if she does still.

"Your references are remarkable," she says, and he nods stiffly.

The kettle whistles and she stands to pour them both cups; he puts in three lumps of sugar and some cream and then drinks it too fast.

"Are you sure you want to come back to Hogwarts?" she asks gently, and he almost chokes, then gingerly sets his cup down. Silently she hands him a napkin.

"I've thought about it," says Neville, "and I think so."

She worries still. A part of her is convinced that none of the staff who'd been there for 1998 and the battle that had cut the school year short were sure they wanted to be back at Hogwarts. Most of them just felt they had to be, herself included. What sort of woman would she be, if she'd taken the time to retire instead of guiding her friends, her colleagues, and the children through the next years of recovery?

"Pomona's assured me that she's beyond willing to have an assistant," says Minerva. "It will be a bit of time before you're ready to start teaching classes—"

"I don't mind a wait," says Neville, and he smiles.

"I don't suppose you do, no," says Minerva. It is with difficulty that she remembers not to call him Mr. Longbottom. "Neville—it's in poor taste, but why don't you want to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? You must know there's an opening and, well, we both know you're adept at it. You were an Auror."

Neville thinks it over for a moment, before he says, "I don't know. I'm done with that, I think. At least, I hope I am, for a long while."

Minerva smiles, sips her tea. "I do hope so."

She looks down at his references again, as though she is still making up her mind. He finishes his tea in silence and she looks back at him. "And I know you and Pomona have discussed lessons and how you'll cooperate?"

"Yes," says Neville. He's still nervous; Minerva tries to soften her expression just a little bit. From his apprehensive expression, it doesn't work.

"We'd be honoured to have you," she says, and hands his papers back. "I'll speak with Mr. Filch and the house-elves about setting up a room for you."

When he smiles it is surprised and relieved, and Minerva, though glad she hadn't seemed like she was going to give him the position automatically, is sorry to have made him worry. "Thank you, so much."

She stands up, and Neville takes his cue and stands as well.

"Do you remember," says Neville, "You told me I ought to think about teaching, back in fifth year?"

"Of course I do," says Minerva.

Neville doesn't seem like he knows how to continue this thought; he just holds out his hand to shake. Minerva is happy to oblige.

"I look forward to working together, Neville," she says. It is a little easier to call him that a second time.

"Me too, professor," he says, clearly not on first name basis with her yet. She watches him head out the door and shakes her head a little at it. He's got time, she thinks, to grow and to realise that she's no better than him, only older. She'd gone into her own interview with Armando Dippet just as nervously, had left it with just that elation.

With a wave of her wand, she cleans and stacks the cups and saucers; she puts them back in their cupboard.

* * *

Only took me literally an entire year to write 1500 words!


End file.
